


a rose, blooming, dying, in your lungs

by feralphoenix



Series: the away game [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Autistic Frisk, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Intersex Frisk, Kink Negotiation, Nonverbal Frisk, Other, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Spoilers - Undertale Pacifist Route, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Asriel needs help in ways that only Frisk can provide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a rose, blooming, dying, in your lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inverts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverts/gifts).



> _(thoughts imprinted on the body_ – words in [couples](http://marchenwings.tumblr.com/post/143344471979/) carry weight)
> 
> implied but not stated in-text: asriel has anxiety and ptsd. there are also very brief references to past bullying, ableism, and child neglect with regards to frisk's background and experiences in politics.

Chara dithers at the door for a moment, even though Alphys and Undyne are halfway down the sidewalk waiting for them, clearly reluctant to leave. Their face is pale and anxious against the brilliant pink-and-purple sunset.

 _You can go on,_ you encourage them, smiling. _You know I’ve got everything under control here._

“I know,” they say, and fidget. “I just—I wish that I could help.”

You lean in and smooch their forehead, hands light on their shoulders as you stretch your chin up to reach. Chara sighs and closes their eyes, listing into the affection, and you consider your options. You _could_ use your voice with them—it’s easiest to talk aloud to Chara out of everyone you know—but you’re probably going to need to hold on to your ability to speak for later, so you tap their cheek lightly to prompt them to look at you instead.

 _The best way that you can help right now is by making sure to take care of yourself so we have nothing to worry about,_ you tell them. _I know you can do it._

They take a deep breath as if to protest, then let it out as a sigh instead. They know you’re right. What Asriel needs right now isn’t something that they can handle being part of—they can’t even stand to be anywhere near it. One of the first times you and Asriel did a scene, Chara tried to participate too, and it—ended very badly. They’d adopted that frozen, unnaturally perfect smile they tend to make when they’re very upset or dissociating, and you’d had to safeword in their place, because they weren’t able to.

“If anything happens, if there’s anything you need, you can always text me,” they say, for all the world as if it’s you being sent off to spend the night with friends and not them.

You just smile and nod, though. _We’ll have everything cleaned up and safe by the time you come back in the morning. And if there’s anything YOU need, you can always text us too._

Chara nods back to you, and then they hug you close, their arms tight around your shoulders, fingers nervous in your hair. You settle your arms loose around their waist, too, holding them softly while they shiver with tension.

Finally they kiss the side of your face, right where your earlobe meets your jawline. “Take care of him,” they say, low and guilty.

“I will,” you whisper to them, rubbing comforting circles on the small of their back.

They still hesitate before they’re willing to let you go.

 

 

You sit Asriel down in the living room, because you’ve found it’s easier to make the transfer from talking things out to the scenario you agree on when you do this part somewhere other than where you plan to hold the scene. He’s despondent, sunken into himself, shoulders slumped and head hung low so that he looks half his size. He needs someone to catch him, to bear him up and stop him from spiraling any further than he already has—he might try to rush you if you attempted to hold this discussion in the bedroom, his need for help overwhelming how important he knows safety and communication are. He’s not in a position to consider that right now, but you are, so it’s your job to make sure things get sorted out regardless.

You situate yourself across the coffee table from him, and tap on its surface to make sure you’ve got his attention.

 _Is there anything in specific you want to try?_ you ask. _I have to tell you beforehand, too, I don’t think I’m comfortable with straight-up punishment right now._

He nods as if expecting this, which is a relief. You’re okay with things getting a little rough—you _enjoy_ things getting a little rough—and you’re fine with playfighting when Asriel wants to have a session purely for fun. But being asked to outright hit him makes you uncomfortable, and when he’s spiraling like this it tends to be better to be gentle, and thus remove any possible temptation on his behalf to let you go too far and really mess him up.

“I just…” Asriel swallows and looks down at his hands. His voice is faltering where usually he’s gentle and confident. “I need to do something right, I need to know I’m doing something right. It—it helps me feel less _bad_ when I can do that.”

He lifts his head without you having to tap the table to prompt him, this time, and you smile. _I think I’ll be able to do that for you._ You fold your lower lip into your mouth and chew it for a moment. _And are there things that you know for sure you’re not up to tonight, so that I can avoid them?_ Asriel turns a little, unsure, so you prod a little further, patient. _Hand restraints? Should I not risk anything, would you be okay with me holding your wrists, do you think that being tied is something that would help or not?_

There’s the soft tap of his claws on the floor for a moment—you recognize the nervous stim, so it doesn’t surprise you when Asriel says, “I think—I think maybe cords would be too much. Just you holding my wrists, I’m pretty sure I can handle, and I’ll let you know if I’m wrong.”

 _Okay,_ you tell him. It’s your turn to come up with the safeword tonight, so you cock your head to one side for a moment while you think. _How about ‘searchlight’ for the safeword?_

This actually gets a grin out of him. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to come up in conversation.”

You grin back, happy to have a livelier response. _Okay. Going over things one more time—I plan on keeping things light and low-key. No punishment—more focus on tasks and positive reinforcement, is that okay?_ He nods to you. _Definitely no tying you up, and if I need to hold your arms or wrists to keep you in place I’ll warn you and take it slow so you’ve got time to safeword if you have to. How does that sound?_

“It sounds—” Asriel takes a breath and swallows. “Good,” he finishes at last.

 _Okay,_ you say, smiling at him with all the warmth you’ve got in you. _Is there anything you need to do to get ready first, or would you like to get started now?_

He smiles, or tries to, and it looks so fragile on him that your heart aches. “I… I think today’s bad enough that if I try to do too many things I’ll just get… stuck,” he says. “If—if you’re okay with it, I think I’d rather just get to the point.”

 _I can do that,_ you assure him. _Remember, for all that I’m going to be giving you directions once we’re in the scene, tonight is about your needs more than it’s about mine. If you need to stop things for a while to rest, or if you want to take things a different direction, we can put our session on pause so that we can talk about it a little more._

“I know,” Asriel says. “But I trust you. I don’t think I’ll need to.”

 _I trust you, too,_ you tell him, _especially to let me know if that changes._

He nods once, brief. “Okay, Frisk.” He looks up directly into your face instead of focusing on your hands. “I’m ready.”

 

 

The air between you changes subtly when you enter the bedroom.

“Set the dimmer switch,” you tell him, aloud. He swallows visibly and sets his hand to the knob on the wall, turning it just enough that you’re both low-lit in the lamplight, warm and soft and flattering.

“Is… this okay?” he asks, turning back towards you with uncertainty in both his voice and his expression.

You smile. “Perfect,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

He seems to rise a little at that, hopeful, and your smile widens. This will work.

You take a quick look around the room now, running your options over. “We’ll sit you against the bed,” you decide. “Get a blanket—from the closet. Pillows too. Have to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Okay,” Asriel says, and you watch him as he goes, folding your lip into your mouth again. You’ve budgeted for this since you knew it would be necessary, so you think you’ll be okay, but the pressure to speak out loud makes it harder to do. There’s no other choice sometimes when it comes to sex—often your hands will be occupied elsewhere—and Asriel definitely responds better to directions or commands when you’re using your voice for them. But it _is_ still a strain after you do it too much. Oh, talking to Asriel and Chara will never be as stressful as diplomatic meetings and public press conferences. But it’s still harder and takes more energy than talking with your hands.

So when Asriel returns with what you requested, you direct him as much with your actions as your words, taking two corners of the thick duvet and folding them up to the ones he holds, then tugging the fold and Asriel with it to help him lay it out on the floor. You put another blanket on over that—you commend him for the choice, since this one’s soft fabric is a better texture against your feet than the crisp velvety duvet surface, and his eyes go wet with gratitude—and then help him arrange the pillows up against the side of the bed so that he’ll have proper back support.

He looks like he’s about to sit once the two of you are done, so you catch his hands and bring him back up to face you instead.

“Let’s get you undressed first,” you say, and he whines a little and nods, his eyes wide, the pupils large.

You stand close face-to-face with him and reach up to unbutton the top of his polo shirt, skimming your fingertips down the cable weave of his sweater—it’s one of Chara’s—so that you can grip the hems of both and roll them up slowly, enjoying the tickle of his fur on your hands. Asriel raises his arms obediently and bows his head so that you can lift sweater and shirt, carefully navigating the neck hole and the fabric of the back over his horns before you pull his clothes slowly down his arms.

He fidgets when you get to his pants, and you see why—there’s a noticeable tent in the crotch that wasn’t there before. You grin a little and hold the waistband and the fabric of his underwear away from his cock as you pull both down his hips; when you get to his knees, he lifts one foot and then the other to step carefully out of his pants, and you drop them on the floor.

You only straighten up a little; his cock is right there in front of your face, after all, wet and pink and so big your insides flutter just to look at him. So you steady yourself with a hand on his belly and lean in—not all the way, just enough that he’ll have an idea of what you’re up to and be able to stop you if he doesn’t want it. No protests come—when you peek up, he’s staring down at you with desperation clear in his eyes—so you lean in further, kiss the side of the shaft close enough to the tip that the rim presses against the corner of your mouth. Asriel whines; you run your tongue over the same spot, and then suck there very lightly. He makes another sound—this time half moan and half strangled yell.

Gentle, you push away from him, straightening up to admire your handiwork. Asriel is completely naked now but for the locket that hangs on his breast; he’s breathing rapidly, hazy-eyed and shivering, helpless.

He lifts his hands as if to reach for your clothes, then stops himself halfway, awaiting your direction. You smile.

“Go and sit down,” you tell him, gesturing at the blankets and pillows. He does, tentative, flexing his toes; his head and the tops of his shoulders still crest the top of the mattress. “Watch me,” you go on. “One rule—don’t touch yourself. Not at all tonight, unless I ask you to. All right?”

He nods once, then again, much more rapidly. “I understand,” he says, breathless.

“That’s very good,” you tell him, and he moans very soft and very low. The red column of his cock twitches. Your panties feel slick against you.

You take one step back, then another, and grip the hem of your sweater. Asriel’s eyes are fixed on you, round and desperate, the brown iris a narrow ring around his blown-out pupils. You smile and cock your hips at an angle as you pull the sweater up over your head and let it drop at your side.

Asriel whimpers. His penis twitches visibly at the sound your shirt makes against the bedroom floor.

You undo the button and fly of your shorts next, slow and careful, skimming your fingertips over your belly and hips a little more than is strictly necessary as you push them down past your thighs and then let them fall. You step out of them, one foot at a time, watching Asriel swallow so hard his whole chest shifts and feeling your smile spread.

Your tights are last—you peel them down over your hips and thighs slowly, lifting your feet up to roll them slowly down your calves and off your ankles. Once you’re standing in only your bra and panties, Asriel sighs with longing to look at you.

Taking a moment to get used to the air against your skin, you hold still and take stock of both yourself and your partner. Asriel’s very caught up with staring at you; he’s got both fists tight around handfuls of blanket, and though the head of his cock is wet with precome, he hasn’t touched himself at all. Your breath is a little rough with anticipation; you’re wet, too, though you doubt it’s pronounced enough to leave a damp spot on your underwear the way that Chara always seems to. Your clit is hard—it stands visibly against the thin fabric of your panties, and you stroke one hand down your front to run your fingertips over it. Asriel shivers and groans; you have to fight the urge to cup yourself with a palm.

Instead, you step towards Asriel once, then again, until you’re even with his spread ankles. You kneel there and reach out to stroke his face.

“You’re very good,” you tell him, soft and crooning. “You listened very well.”

His eyes go damp again, and he trembles under your touch. You lean in and kiss the tip of his nose; your breasts push against the fur of his chest, and his cock briefly grazes your stomach.

“You’re very good,” you tell him again, and shift a little further down to kiss his mouth this time. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

You keep pressing little kisses over his lips until he whimpers and lets them part; soft and careful, you hold his face in both hands and tilt your head to the side to tease the tip of his tongue with yours.

He doesn’t push it into your mouth—he waits for your lead, pliant, shuddering under your fingers’ rhythmic stroke over his muzzle and cheeks and ears, returning stroke for stroke. By the time you pull back, you’re both panting lightly.

You run your hands down his shoulders and biceps and then get to your feet. Asriel’s eyes never leave your face; he tilts his chin up to keep eye contact, eager for your next order.

So you touch the side of your panties. “Take these off,” you tell him.

His lower jaw quivers a little as he trills deep in his throat, a whimper turned fluttery with the motion. His big hands rise up to frame your waist softly; careful of his claws, he pushes the waistband of your panties down and over the curve of your hips and thighs. (His breath catches when the crotch sinks loose; the slick sensation tells you that you’re wet enough to trail fluids, and you shiver a little yourself.) His palms are almost feverishly warm against your skin; his fur is soft as a dream. He doesn’t let go of your underwear once he gets to your knees and could conceivably let gravity do the rest of the work for him; meticulously he brings them down to your ankles for you to step lightly out of them.

“Set them down next to you,” you tell him, and he obeys.

You stroke Asriel’s head, pushing your fingers into the fur of his mane to scritch at him, as much to delay yourself from simply straddling his waist and sinking onto his cock as to reward him. You want so much to bury him in you, cling to him and glory in the sensation of being filled and pushed to the limits of what your far smaller body can handle, but that’s just what you _want._ Asriel _needs_ you to keep giving him little tasks that he can use to build a ladder out of the pit he’s gotten caught in.

So you just whisper praise and shift to settle your feet on either side of his hips while he lets his eyes fall shut with bliss.

“Now,” you say, and he opens his eyes again to gaze up at you adoringly, beseechingly. You tilt your hips towards him a little, letting him look at you; his warm breath rushes against your lower belly. “I want you to use your mouth,” you direct, giving the top of his head one more pat. “I want you to make me come. You can touch me. You can use your claws, if you’re careful. Just don’t touch yourself. Can you do that?”

He swallows, small this time. “Yes,” he says, quiet, reverent, breathless. “I can.”

Asriel leans in with his eyes half closed, and traces your clit with his tongue.

You exhale and grip his horns in both hands as he skims his hands up the sides of your legs and holds your hips, claws polite against your waist and the cheeks of your ass.

He’s warm and wet, gentle, the texture of his thin tongue soft and a little bumpy against your fevered skin. He tilts his head, shifts, alternates between long strokes up your folds to part them and quick rubs and sucks at your clit. Your nipples have gone stiff, standing out against the cups of your bra, hazy in your peripheral as you watch Asriel work.

The very tip of his tongue teases the opening of your pussy, and you let your head fall back and your back arch as you pant.

Your hips cant forward, helplessly seeking more pleasure, and Asriel’s breath huffs against your pubes and your belly as he opens his mouth a little wider to give you room to thrust, his hands on your ass pulling gently to welcome you. Instinct tells you to jackrabbit roughly into his face, but that would hurt his neck, and you’d probably nick yourself on his teeth besides. So you keep the swing of your waist gentle and leisurely, rubbing your clit against the middle of his tongue while he caresses your folds and vulnerable inner walls with the tip.

You wind your toes into the blankets under your feet and tighten your grip on his horns as he opens you with his tongue, as you fuck his face. Your breath is coming in low rough pants already; Asriel strokes you firmly and tenderly and relentlessly, and pressure builds in you, urgent, a counterpoint to the rhythmic pounding pleasure of your thrusts and his tongue inside you. Your movements get shallower, jerkier; Asriel squeezes your ass gently, claws little white stars of heat, and he sucks on your clit and you gasp and shudder and your knees tremble as you come.

Asriel leans his weight back against the side of the bed as you grind briefly into his face, groaning low as you breathe out all shuddery and your orgasm crests and ebbs. He lets you go as your movements still, hands sliding down to support your knees, tongue slipping out of you. You have no choice, then, but to pull your hips back so that he doesn’t rub overmuch against your too-sensitive clit; even so, you release his horns last of all, and your palms are pale and bloodless for a moment before color rushes back into them.

“That was good,” you tell him between pants, sinking down to kneel over his stretched-out legs with your thighs still spread wide. You stroke his face, his chest, his sides and stomach. “That was so good, you’re so good with your mouth, you’re so sweet, you’re so cute. You did a good job, Asriel. I love you and I’m proud of you.”

He shivers a little, unsubtle, but it’s the flicker in his eyes as you say his name that makes you swoop in to kiss his nose.

A long time ago now, he told you that you could make up a pet name for him if you wanted, like Chara did. You told him that you’d rather call him by his full name instead, because it’s so pretty, and he went very quiet and wide-eyed, and you’d said it aloud, slow and tasting each syllable, and he’d looked like he was going to cry. You’ll never forget his expression from that day.

“Asriel,” you say, soft and enunciated, and you kiss his nose and say it again: “Asriel.” And, breathing quick and shallow just like him, you crush your mouth to his, licking the salt of your sweat and the sweetness of your fluids from his lips and his tongue as he moans full-throated against you.

Arousal crashes over you in waves, an insistent flutter in your belly, and you reluctantly lift your mouth from Asriel’s. He whimpers as you rest back on your haunches; you stroke your hair back out of your face, noting that your breasts and stomach both heave slightly with your breath.

“Let me look at you,” you say, and he moans but doesn’t protest. The light’s too low for you to tell if he’s blushing beneath his fur.

He’s disheveled where your bodies have brushed up close together, and precome is still welling up along the slit in the head of his cock. You reach out, murmuring for him to hold still, and Asriel whines and shakes underneath your hands as you run them up his thighs, struggling to comply.

On a whim you reach out to lightly trace his balls, and Asriel’s whole body jerks, his mouth falling open helplessly as if to cry out—but he doesn’t make a sound; he just shuts his jaw softly and quietly and goes back to breathing quick and shallow. You scoot in a bit closer, using both your hands this time to pull the folds of his sheath down all the way to the very root of his cock. He does make a very faint, high-pitched noise this time.

You get back up on your knees, scooting up the blankets so that your thighs are spread wide around his hips again. The tip of his cock brushes against your belly when he breathes, and sometimes when you do; forcing yourself to wait is unbearable, but you have to, for him.

“I’ll hold your wrists,” you say, knowing that he’ll understand it’s a question. (He nods.) “Don’t come.”

And finally, _finally,_ you grip the base of the shaft and reposition yourself, lining the tip up to yourself—and you let your hips sink down.

You moan just a little as you take him, as he opens you—between gravity and need you can’t hold back from thrusting down onto him all at once, and one brilliant flash of pain sears all through your lower belly, a dull ache seeping in after it.

He’s _huge,_ much too big for you to take him all the way, no matter how much you want to. He’s too wide, too, forcing your walls to stretch to make room for him. It’s painful, but only a little, and that slight edge of pain makes it exciting; the sheer heat of him soothes your muscles’ protests anyway.

It’s not just that it hurts or that he’s hot that makes you hard and has you soaking the extra two or three inches of shaft that you can’t fit inside you. It thrills all through you to be filled, to pull Asriel in as close as you can, so close that your bodies overlap. All the greed, all the yearning for contact and for affection in you—you can’t keep it from spilling over when you’re having sex with your partners, so much so that no amount of closeness could ever truly overwhelm you. You’ll always want more—you’ll always want Asriel even deeper, even closer, to take all the love and the pleasure and the come he can pour into you and then some.

You squeeze his hips between your thighs. Both of you are panting. You reach out and run your hands down his arms, gripping his wrists and pinning them up against the bed. He shivers and moans, twitching deep inside you in a ticklish way that makes your whole pussy and your clit throb. You can feel his heartbeat deep in you, his pulse racing yours, the blood beating in your belly and your breasts and your mouth and your palms, in the soles of your feet.

You wriggle and stretch to catch Asriel’s mouth with yours, and he moans full-throated into you, a hum that seems to travel the whole length of your body. He’s always so loud—nothing like Chara, who keeps quiet out of shyness, or like you, your pleasure rarely coming out in your voice. You’re glad for him, how unashamed he’s able to be; you want to listen to him all day. His fur feels so good against your flushed skin; you want to rub the full of your bare skin into his front, to wrap your whole body around him and never let go.

“Hold still,” you croon into his mouth. “And try not to come, if you can.”

“Okay,” he whimpers into you. “I’ll try.”

You smile up against his lips, brace yourself against his wrists, and start to move your hips.

Your breath rushes, heavy, with every thrust—the thick rim of the head rakes your walls, the tip presses deep deep into you every time you snap your hips down on him with all your weight, and it makes heat wash over you in waves. Asriel tilts his head back, his eyes mostly closed, moaning openly; you lean down so that your forehead rests against his chest, so you can feel the vibration of the sounds he makes all through your body. His thighs quiver under yours with the strain of not bucking up into you, and beneath the soft fat his stomach is taut against a climax that must be near to him.

When you exhale into the fur of his chest, your breath whines. You ride him messily, thrusts sloppy and eager, fluttering the muscles of your stomach so that the walls of your pussy will ripple around him in the ways that make everything inside you tighten with anticipation. He sobs a little in pleasure, and you breathe harshly.

“You’re so big,” you mumble into his chest. “You’re so perfect, you’re so big—”

Your hips and belly thump against his, you’re thrusting so hard; the slide of his cock into and out of you is wet and noisy. The fur beneath your palms is damp with your own sweat, and you press your whole body against him, his scent suddenly vivid in your nose and your breasts crushed to his middle; he sobs again, and you moan once, low and hard, as you come.

Aching and oversensitive, you let your hips slow to a stop as you take him as deep as you can, panting. Asriel’s shaking all over now, little moans mingled with his every exhale, eyes closed weakly. You release his wrists, resting your hand on his shoulders instead.

“Just look at how good you are,” you purr. “So patient. So brave.”

He keens and shivers, bereft, too aroused to relax but unwilling to move against your orders.

“Just a little longer,” you reassure him, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Make me come one more time, and come inside me. I know you can do it. A good boy like you—of course you can.”

He whines, but you can feel him shift as he nods.

Asriel repositions himself beneath you—he braces his weight against the bed, his feet spread wide and flat on the floor—and he pumps his hips up powerfully, piercing you with such vigor that you yelp.

You roll your hips, gripping his shoulders tight; Asriel’s hands rest on your waist, pulling you in closer as he pumps up into you. His size, his strength are overwhelming; you’re moaning low, smiling, as he whimpers and fucks you roughly.

Big as he is, you’re slick enough from coming twice and from his precome to take him easily; you spread your legs wider and grind in to accept him deep, deep, so deep it’s painful, so deep it seems he must cleave you in two, hew your bodies together as one.

Asriel is calling your name— _your_ name, _yours_ and no one else’s; his hands are tight on your soft ass and your thigh, pulling you as close against him as you try with arms and legs to pull him close against you.

“Asriel,” you gasp, and your pussy contracts like a fist, and you throw your head back and moan full-throated and loud as you come.

He cries out beneath you, and his hips jerk up and his cock twitches and then thumps like the beat of a heart, and he’s coming too, hard and thick and slow, grinding together with you. Your body slackens just a few seconds before his does, leaving you lying limp together, flushed up fully body to body at last: His legs stretched out, yours as far around his waist as they’ll go, arms around each other, his belly fur and your bra soaked with your sweat, both of you gasping for breath.

You lie like that for a few minutes on end as he softens inside you; slowly, carefully, not wanting to dislodge him, you raise yourself up on your elbows. His locket unsticks from your forehead and drops back down to his chest.

Light, soft, you kiss his chin and the side of his mouth. He breathes out, gentle and slow.

You lick your lips, swallow, gather yourself. “Asriel Dreemurr,” you whisper, a little hoarse now, “you are good. You are beautiful and kind and gentle and you are _good,_ just look at you, you are good and worthy and sweet and _perfect_ just how you are. And if you have trouble understanding that, or forget, I’ll remind you—I’ll prove it to you—as many times as you need.” Your voice wavers a little, gone husky now, about ready to give out on you. So you punctuate your speech with a soft smooch before appending, “Are we clear?”

“Yes,” he answers. Swallows. He ducks his head to tuck his cheek against yours, closing his eyes; you follow suit. “Frisk—thank you.”

It’s comfortably silent, after that.

 

 

It’s an entire hour before the two of you settle down on the couch for tea and cuddles, pressed up side to side. You’d both needed to shower off the mess you’d made of each other, and the pillows and blankets you’d used needed to go in the hamper; you needed fresh pajamas and the tea needed time to brew.

All of this also had to be done in near darkness, because you discovered to your distinct displeasure that you’ve been so overstimulated this evening, bright light now overloads you completely. Feeling bruised all over from the end of your scene with Asriel, the pain that comes with using your body to its fullest—that’s a good kind of pain, a pain you like. Eye-watering, migraine-warning-bells-going-off assaults on your poor optic nerves that force you to close your eyes completely? Not so much.

But you’re curled up together now, both under a heavy blanket and with tea for calming and for soothing your throat, and you’re happy.

You poke him in the thigh at length, and he twists around so that he’ll be able to properly listen; you wait for him before you say, _How was that? Are you feeling any better at all?_

“A lot,” he says, and smiles a little, shy. You grin back at him and lift his hand to kiss his palm; he uses the same hand to stroke your hair, claws gentle on your scalp. “Thanks.”

You wait for him to finish petting you to put on your play-serious face. _Since we’re here anyway, is there anything about tonight’s scene you want to talk about?_

He opens his mouth, then closes it and frowns a little. “Actually…”

You sober a little, attentive, waiting for him to put his thoughts together.

“I know you’re good at budgeting your spoons, way better than me and Chara both are,” Asriel qualifies, “but I still want to make sure you’re not overdoing it trying to talk. I know we’ve, um, talked about this before and all, and you’ve told me why sometimes you prefer to, but if we want to or need to do a scene, it’s okay if you save your voice for times you’ve _got_ to because your hands are busy, or for effect.”

Your eyebrows have raised by the time he finishes up. Maybe it’s uncharitable to be surprised that he’s so perceptive about these things—you’re used to it from Chara, who knows what all your cues are from the time they were just a sleepy memory in the back of your head, but you’re still taken by surprise when Asriel picks up on them. Your partners love you, you remind yourself. They care about your comfort and safety and they don’t think it’s a hassle to look after you either.

 _I wasn’t pushing myself so badly,_ you say slowly, signs careful, _but I appreciate you bringing it up. It means a lot to me that you’re thinking of this, especially because you… know what things are like at work._

Asriel nods, and leans in to nuzzle your forehead. There are so many people in the political world who won’t let Asriel translate for you when you get tired, and who see your preference for sign as a weakness and will get three times as aggressive if you use up your ability to talk aloud and have to switch. You don’t burst into tears and run anymore like you did when you were fifteen and not yet used to big board meetings with powerful diplomats and politicians, but neither do you have Toriel and Asgore flanking you and ready to shut down bullying older humans anymore, either.

All that, plus years of conditioning from your birth parents that you’re still fighting at every turn, has left you with an unfortunate predilection towards self-denial and overdoing it out of a sense of obligation to others. You talked to all your friends about it years ago, and asked them to help you with it—it’s good to have them all prepared to step back instead of taking advantage, ready to remind you that you matter.

So you tilt your chin up and kiss Asriel’s nose when he pulls back, smiling at him. _I’ll definitely keep that in mind for the future. It’s good to know that you’re okay with me speaking more sparingly. Sometimes I do_ want _to just use my voice on you, but just not talking out loud is still easier._

Asriel nods earnestly. “Even in giving feedback and things when I’m following directions—I can tell when you’re really happy just from your expression and how dramatic your, uh, physical responses are. You don’t have to _say_ I’m good out loud when other ways of showing it work fine too.”

 _That definitely is good to know, I hadn’t thought of that before._ You cock your head to the side. _Are there specific things you’re thinking of, or…?_

He averts his gaze, embarrassed. “When you—uh, when you pat my head. Your hands are… well, they’re expressive, Frisk, because that’s just who you are. The way you touch my face to comfort me is different from when you’re pleased with me, or when you’re helping me calm down. That’s one thing you can do—I’ll be able to tell.”

You nod seriously. He’s so attentive to your body language—maybe you should expect that when you’re doing dom/sub scenes, especially the therapeutic ones; of course he’d cling to your every cue then. _This’ll be really good to keep in mind for next time, Asriel, thank you for bringing it up._

He nods in a rush, as if relieved. “That’s the only thing I was concerned about, though. You were—I mean you’re always fantastic about this stuff. You’re a natural.”

You giggle a little, pushing yourself into his side. _I like taking care of people,_ you tell him. _But I like being taken care of, too; I’m fine with either role, personally._

Asriel makes a little huff of a laugh, wrapping you up in his arms. “Some other time we can plan out some scenes so that you can switch. For days when you really want to get babied and won’t have to worry about reassuring me too.”

You giggle. _That sounds good,_ you say. _Some other time._

It takes him a minute to parse the signs over your shoulder instead of watching you from the front, but he nods and holds you tight. “It’s a plan.”

 _Only cuddles now?_ you ask, grinning, imitating one of Chara’s hundred-year-old memes again.

“Only cuddles now,” Asriel agrees.

 

 

You don’t get to your phone for another hour or so, when Asriel has gone to bed before you and you just have the dishes to do before you follow him. It’s good that you’ve waited; you just have to squint now while you set up your screen-dimming apps, where before you couldn’t have looked at your screen for that long even through your eyelashes.

Setting teacups in the dishwasher rack with one hand, you thumb open your chat application with the other.

_hey just wanted to let u kno that were done & everybodys doing ok_

Chara responds not thirty seconds later—they must have kept their phone on them the whole day, though you trust Undyne and Alphys to have kept them busy enough that they weren’t checking it anxiously every five minutes. _That’s good to know_

_hows ur evening going? did you eat??? how were the animes_

_The “animes” were fine,_ Chara responds. _Alphys convinced Undyne better of cooking, so we ordered out—we got pizza and then takeout from the new Korean place downtown_

_:O who drove_

_Honestly? I called Sans and he had Papyrus pick it up for us._

You giggle a little. _hehe good choice_

_They seemed happy about it, anyway. Though I must warn you, I’m going to be in the mood for East Asian all week. I have caught the bug._

_sounds like a good time to go down to that chinese & mongolian buffet grill place thing????_

_Maybe,_ Chara types back. A few seconds later: _If we can go sometime that there aren’t many humans there._

_its no prob ill ask undyne & alphys & mk & mom or dad to come with youll be so surrounded by fam & friends u wont even have time 2 worry_

_Thank you, I think?_

_also_

_I feel as though I may regret asking this, but also what?_

You lift the dishwasher door up with your foot while you slide the rack back in, and then hip-check it shut. _also u should brainstorm sexy fun ideas bcos sometime this week were gonna do something u want *eyebrow waggle*_

There’s a pause. You giggle again, imagining Chara groaning out loud. _Is there no end to your thirst, Frisk._

 _nop,_ you type cheerfully. _i will drink oceans_

 _Put the ocean back, Lapis Lazuli,_ they reply, and you snort.

_i might!! itll depend on how ~persuasive u are (wink wink)_

_I_ Chara sends, all by itself, and then _No,_ and then _We’re not doing this, I am not going to stay up all night writing facetious erotic cartoon roleplay with you. Especially when I don’t know who I’m supposed to be playing and your Lapis characterization is terrible._

 _you could be lapis, ill pick another character,_ you send back, still laughing.

 _Hmm,_ Chara replies. _Tempting, but I think not. You must be worn out, Frisk, please go to bed._

 _ok,_ you respond. They’re right, after all. _love u, cant wait to see you tomorrow_

 _I love you too,_ they say right away. _Tell Asriel I love him. I’m glad you’re both alright. Goodnight._

 _i will! nighty nite_ you type, and then shut your phone off for good. You set it back on the counter and turn the lights down, leaving in quiet soft steps.

Asriel is asleep when you get to the bedroom. You smile down at him fondly in the faint moonlight that filters through the window, and lift up the sheets so that you can wriggle in next to him, curling up to his warm back.

Your loved ones are content, and there’s nothing as soothing to you as that knowledge. Sleep comes quickly when you close your eyes.


End file.
